


Arrangements

by FebobeFic_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Conversations, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:07:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28714752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FebobeFic_Archivist/pseuds/FebobeFic_Archivist
Summary: That promise Sam makes to Gandalf that he won't ever leave Frodo? He made that promise to someone else, long before...
Kudos: 2





	Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Bookverse gapfiller/hints of possible AUness, though Frodo's desc is drawn from PJ's LOTR fims. Written for the Baggins Birthday 2014.

I reckon I felt like pacing, only it wouldn't do to act so familiar in Mr. Bilbo's front parlor. I hardly ever had call to come inside Bag End usually, but Mr. Bilbo had told me to come in once I finished picking the tomatoes and tending to the gardens - and I was right worried. He didn't seem like he was mad or nothing, but he hadn't ever asked to see me in private inside before, not outside o'lessons. If he had special instructions, usually he just came out and talked to me a bit while I worked, and I'd lay off long enough to make sure I was clear what he wanted.

Was I going to lose my place?

There was the problem with them aphids a couple years ago. I got that cleared up quick, though. Was he upset about that, this long after? Maybe I'd missed a weed - no, no, I never missed weeds when I pulled, though sometimes I had to pull 'em every day for weeks to keep 'em from getting too strong a foothold.

Mr. Bilbo's big birthday-party, which he was sharing with Mr. Frodo, was coming up. Maybe the party cost so much he couldn't afford to keep me on? But that didn't make no sense. Mr. Bilbo had been well-to-do before his journey, and better off after, or so my Gaffer had always said. He and Mr. Frodo lived modestly - well, he indulged Mr. Frodo quite a bit, but Mr. Frodo didn't have the sort o'nature where he went out spending all his pocket-money.

It was Mr. Frodo I'd miss even worse than old Mr. Bilbo, though. Mr. Bilbo had taught me my letters. He'd taught me about the Elves. But Mr. Frodo - he was such a kind and friendly soul, he was. Sometimes he'd let me read with him out o'his books, for practice. Sometimes he'd bring Mam a present he'd bought for her himself, just for no reason in particular, usually something for our supper. We knew Mr. Bilbo was like that, but we hadn't had no idea what Mr. Frodo would be like, 'cept rumour had it he was a right scoundrel. But when he came, he weren't no scoundrel, only this pale tweenager, thinner than most hobbits I knew, with great big blue eyes.

And now he was going to come of age.

Was Mr. Bilbo going to tell me that he and Mr. Frodo were going away on adventures?

"Thank you for joining me, Sam." Mr. Bilbo came into the parlor, and he was carrying a tea-tray. On it he had his favorite tea-pot - one made like the top of a mushroom - and two tea-cups, two little plates, along with seed-cakes and little sandwiches. He set the tray down on the table near the sofa. "Won't you sit with me, and enjoy some tea?"

I felt my face turning red. "Oh, sir, Mr. Frodo ought to be joining you, not me. I'll just come back when you've had time to finish."

"Frodo is in Hobbiton on Party Business today," Mr. Bilbo said kindly. "I prepared this for the two of us. Please, come and sit."

Well, I didn't know what to think, 'cept if he were about to fire me, it was the nicest I'd ever heard of anybody going about firing a body, but I went over and sat down on the edge of the sofa. I was so afraid o'getting it dirty. I'd washed up as best I could, but sometimes dirt gets on you when you're a gardener, and I hadn't expected to be asked to sit.

"How do you like your tea, Sam?"

It weren't fitting for Mr. Bilbo to be pouring tea for me like this. My Gaffer would whip me good. But I didn't think it would be polite to correct him neither.

"Oh, plain's fine, sir. It's how I drink it at home."

"Are you sure you won't have a lump or two of sugar? Some honey? Milk?"

I had never had the luxury of having sugar at home. Honey and milk we had, but milk was for drinking by the youngest of us when we had it, and we didn't always. Honey we tried to save for treating sore throats and coughs. I wasn't even sure how tea would taste with sugar in it. "Thank you, sir, but this is just fine," I said, accepting the tea as he held it out to me. I was so afeared I'd drop the little cup and saucer, Mr. Bilbo's good china.

"Have some cakes and sandwiches," Mr. Bilbo added, setting a little plate in front of me. "Take whatever you like. There's more in the kitchen if we should need it."

It would've been ruder to refuse than to accept - Mam had taught me that much - so I accepted one seed-cake and one small sandwich. The sandwiches was cut up real fancy, the crusts off the bread, and real white bread too, not the coarse brown kind Mam always baked. I knew Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo ate white bread from the bakery, but the only times I'd had any myself were on the occasions when I'd worked extra long days and Mr. Frodo had brought me sandwiches he and Mr. Bilbo had made up for me. I always brought a packed lunch from home, so's I wouldn't have to leave to go back home and lose too much time, but I can't say those sandwiches didn't go down a treat.

But I couldn't help wondering just what Mr. Bilbo wasn't saying.

"So, I suppose you're wondering what I asked you in to talk about," Mr. Bilbo said, as if he guessed my mind. He poured his own tea and added two lumps of sugar and a little bit o'milk.

"Well, yes, sir, I am. If I've give offense, I'm real sorry."

Mr. Bilbo smiled kindly. "Ah, Sam! You have *never* given the slightest offense. Indeed, I have been extraordinarily pleased with your work. My gardens have never been more beautiful nor produced more robust vegetables." He leaned closer. I could smell ink and paper on him, some of the most wonderful smells in the whole world outside o'good tilled earth and green growing things. I couldn't imagine sitting locked up with ink and paper all day like Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo did so often, but it seemed magical to me that they could do it. "The truth is - I have a secret I must tell you. But first, I require your solemn oath that you shall keep it to yourself, and tell no one - not your Gaffer, not your Mam, not even my Frodo."

Well, now, a secret from Mr. Frodo? I'd be lying if I said I weren't real curious. But I knew I had to give my word. "I swear it, sir. On my honor, I won't tell a living soul. Not even Mr. Frodo."

Mr. Bilbo seemed to relax a little then. "Sam, my lad," he said, "in another month I shall be one hundred and eleven - eleventy-one - years of age. Quite an auspicious age, if I may say so myself! But - my Frodo will be only thirty-three, just come of age, and he has so much living left to be done. I, on the other hand, am itching to see the wider world again - and so I shall be leaving the Shire."

Well, I just about dropped Mr. Bilbo's fine cup and saucer, but I managed to ease it onto the table.

"Leave, sir?" I asked. "But - will Mr. Frodo go with you? What's to become of your garden, if you go?"

Mr. Bilbo smiled. "Never fear, Sam. I hope that my garden will be tended by your gifted hands for many years to come. I am leaving everything of mine to Frodo - including Bag End, and all the land with it - and I am trusting that he will keep you on. I have no doubt that he will; he is most fond of you."

I felt myself blushing. "I'm real fond o'him, too, sir. A perfect gentlehobbit, just like you, Mr. Bilbo, sir."

"Thank you, Sam. But there is more."

"More, sir?" I picked up a seed-cake and ate on it for something to do with my hands. I was that nervous, I was.

"No doubt you recall that Mr. Frodo has been - unwell - often over the years he has lived here. I might also note that he is not much of a 'morning person,' shall we say?" Mr. Bilbo's eyes looked misty, as if he was blinking back tears. "I would feel ever so much better in leaving him if I knew that there would be a reliable person - someone who cares for Frodo as I do, and who knows how to cook exceptionally well for a hobbit - who might come in each morning, and awaken him, and prepare his breakfast. Someone who might keep the place dusted and cleaned for him. Someone who might look after him when he is ill, and secure such help as he might need. Someone to look after him, in short." He looked at me real serious. "I would triple your wages, and I would pay you for a year in advance."

Well, I was real glad I'd set that stuff down, 'cause I'd have dropped it sure's the world at that news.

"Sir, you don't have to do that," I said. "I'll give you my word."

"Oh, but I *want* to, Sam." Mr. Bilbo leaned forward and held out a small purse. "In here, you will find the appropriate wages. And there will be a special bonus for you when I have our birthday-party. In the meantime, I should like for you to come in as often as you can and let me show you our kitchen, our pots and pans, our dishes."

"But sir - won't Mr. Frodo know, if he's here?"

"I shall tell him what you will be doing. But I will tell him it's a special birthday-present to him. He shan't have to know I'm leaving." Mr. Bilbo smiled sadly. "Take this, Sam. Consider it but poor payment for the treasure of my heart I entrust now to your care."

I took the purse. It was real heavy, more money than I'd ever had in my hand at one time before. We'd make this last, o'course - but I would have to take a little and buy something special for Mam. And for Marigold. I couldn't imagine what it meant, knowing I'd be doing in and out of Bag End, but - I could make that work just fine. I'd come in all cleaned up every morning, and get Mr. Frodo up and fed before I went to the garden, and I could check on him closer to lunch. Maybe I could even bake up a pan of muffins for his second breakfast and elevenses.

"You can trust me, sir," I said firmly. "I'll take good care o'him. I won't ever leave him, or my name's not Samwise Gamgee."

-the end-


End file.
